Revelations
by Imogen74
Summary: Sherlock's mind cannot come to terms with the fact that he's experiencing deeply felt emotions & unable to express them. Mycroft helps (?) Sherlolly. M, just because.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! I'll be finishing Awakenings this weekend. Sorry for the delay. Had to start this, though...more on its way.

Prologue

It is a misconception most have of him. One that really is most unfair. Sherlock Holmes has plenty of emotions, & with startling regularity sets them on display for the world to witness. He doesn't hide, or shy away from, or indeed, subvert attention. He yearns for attention. He desires attention almost as much as nicotine. What is true, & what most hone in on, is the fact that he doesn't always like or understand the nature of said emotions. He feels, he reacts, he behaves like a thunderstorm in June & leaves the rest to clean it up.

Now, Mycroft Holmes hides his emotions. He understands them, to a degree. He accepts what is socially expected & behaves accordingly. Mycroft doesn't feel much, he's too busy bothering about what he thinks. He overanalyses, to the point of paralysis.

What would happen, then, when Sherlock feels, but cannot express? He's so accustomed to expressing. It's always worked in the past. What would he do? Whom would he turn to to sort out these bothersome inclinations toward deep, unanswerable emotions that cloud his mind?

Mycroft. His brother. He is the person whom he aspires to be like. Yes. Mycroft would understand, & council him on a problem most confounding, most unfair, most taxing on his brain. For when he discovers that he is in love, he must decide whether to act, or to suppress.


	2. Chapter 2

It had started when he was away. He had been away for quite some time - a year at least - when he began to notice his distraction. He disliked distraction when working, so much so that he swore them off completely when he went clean. Well, save cigarettes. Distracted by thoughts of *companionship*, which yielded thoughts of friendship, which in turn led to thoughts of the people he considered to be his friends. Even while beating an operative to within an inch of his life, he grimaced at the term. Yes, Sherlock Holmes had a friend. A very good one at that. John Watson was a very good friend. But what of Mrs. Hudson? Hardly a friend. More like a beloved aunt. What of...George? Gavin? Gustave? LeStrade. A useful ally. A means to an end. Ok. A friend of sorts. That left Molly. Surely she was a friend. His mind couldn't reconcile the definition of friend with the slight stirring in his stomach at the thought of her.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Then he came back. He came back to the people he had sacrificed two years of his life for. He returned to find the two people he cared for most in this world engaged. They had found people they cared for more than him.

John didn't surprise him really. But Molly, she had. He was well aware of her attraction for him, & perhaps he fleetingly had thought that that alone would secure her loyalty & exclusivity. He was wrong. He asked her out despite knowing she was betrothed. They'd spend the day together in a fashion that would tell him all he needed to know. And what he discovered was, she was over him. Her manner was altered. Her stammer, gone. Her hesitation replaced by quiet confidence & attractive reserve. She laughed at his jokes without blushing, she offered her strictures in complete silence. They moved in musical tandem, finishing one another's sentences which irritatingly recalled his parents. How tiresome. Parents.

His shock at seeing Tom was profound, but he had said goodbye. Nothing to be done about it. Molly had made her choice.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;:::

He awoke in hospital, attached to many machines. His eyes refused to focus. He could hear something - it sounded very far away - like a whimper or a dove. Willing himself to see the source of the sound, he wretched his eyes open & searched the white room, whose lights reflected off the walls & threatened blindness or a migraine. There, next to him, not three feet away, was Molly. She sat there, nose in a book, holding vigil at his side. She must've been crying for him.

"Ma-ee?" He wasn't sure if that made sense. His language was muffled.

She looked up. "Sherlock! Don't talk. You've got all sorts..." and she fiddled with the attachments. "Blast. Should fetch a nurse." She rang the bell.

Molly sat down again & picked up her book that had fallen from her movement. "Rebecca," by Daphne Du Maurier. Sherlock noted the title. In walked the nurse, checked vitals, removed the restrictive mask & gadgets so he could speak. He offered a very weak & silly smile for the nurse when she left.

"So...how are we feeling?" Molly asked.

"Dreadful," was his reply. "Got shot."

"Yeah. Well, can't say I'm sorry. Drugs & all. Part of the life."

Sherlock's face betrayed a look of indignation. "I wasn't shot getting drugs," although he was barely audible, she understood.

"No? Then how? What happened?"

His eyes fell. "You were crying just now," he croaked.

"Yes. The girl here," she motioned toward the volume. "She's something. She hides, all the while in a shadow. Then she realises the shadow never existed. And she emerges basking in the warm sun." Molly has a far away look about her face.

"You mean...you were crying over a book? And here I lay...practically dead..." He pouted.

She laughed. "Oh Sherlock! I am sorry you were shot. But I knew you'd be fine."

He didn't like it. "You were sitting here crying over a book."

"Sorry. It's just...I can...identify with her."

He looked away. This wasn't going well. "Where's John?"

"With Mary, I think. I should be off," she said, standing. " I'll be back tomorrow," and she kissed his forehead. She was no longer cross with him.

And he was left alone to ponder these thoughts: Mary. John. Molly. Wasn't crying for him. Reading a book. Mary. Molly...


	3. Chapter 3

"We will need to get top people on this," Mycroft was talking into his mobile.

Sherlock sneered at this. Top people indeed. Top morons, more like.

"Yes...get him on it straight away. And Honeychurch. Yes, him. I'll be there in..." he glanced at his watch, "at a quarter past," and he hung up.

He looked at his little brother. Dreadful situation, this. He hadn't anticipated it, & now he had to worry about Sherlock & his silly friends. He loved his brother, to be sure, but the trouble & worry he exhausted in his name was bordering ridiculous.

"Got her," said John Watson.

In he walked with his wife & Molly Hooper.

Sherlock was stationed at his laptop, & didn't bother looking up.

"If this is about Moriarty..." she began.

"No, Miss Hooper. It's about your former fiancée," Mycroft interrupted. "When was the last time you saw him?"

Molly's face was impassive. "I...well, a few weeks, I guess."

Sherlock rose. "It appears he's gone missing. Mycroft, show her."

A card of sorts was handed to Molly. She took it, examined it, & laughed. "Well. He's a bit more interesting than I gave him credit for."

"Molly, this is important. How much do you know about him?"

"I was engaged to him, Sherlock. I'd wager quite a bit," she handed the card which detailed Tom's name & background. "I can't help it if he's gotten himself mixed up in this sort of thing. It's nothing to do with me," she turned to Mycroft. "Is that all?"

He nodded.

"Good. I need to be off."

Sherlock attempted to move in her direction, but his brother stuck his umbrella out to stop him. He lowered his eyes.

"Well. Shall I hang about?" John was anxious to get Mary home.

"No," replied Sherlock. "No...I'll text you if anything comes up."

The Watson's left.

"How long?" Mycroft began.

"Sorry?"

"How long, brother?"

"Perhaps I'll fetch Mrs. Hudson. The two of you can speak in code together."

Mycroft cleared his throat. "How long have you been in love with Molly Hooper?"

Sherlock looked at him. "Don't be ridiculous. Love?" He laughed.

"Love. Yes." He wasn't being condescending. He looked at Sherlock quizzically as he prepared to leave.

Sherlock rubbed his face, sat back in his chair, & looked at the ceiling.

"Dunno. Never been before."

"Well, as I understand, it's quite taxing, however, it has it's benefits," he smiled. "You know where to find me." And he left.

Find Mycroft. Sherlock considered this. Mycroft knew him quite well. As well as John, & with John being...occupied, perhaps he might be able to go to him, should the need present itself.

But what for? In love? Silly thought. He dismissed it. He considered it. Dismissed it again.

Irritated, he rose & obtained his violin. She was hardly frazzled at Tom's possible involvement with Moriarty, no matter how distantly. She was so altered from the Molly he knew a few years ago. He began to play...she was stronger, more confident, funny. Damn Mycroft & his assumptions.

A tune emerged from the instrument, & on Baker Street, the day died down.

Somewhere, many blocks away, a pretty pathologist was having a laugh at her former fiancée, a rather uptight government employee, & an adorable detective, & had no idea that he was considering her as well.


	4. Chapter 4

He awoke the next day feeling a bit worse for wear. His mind was filled with unnecessary inclinations toward Molly Hooper. His brother's suggestion occupied his thoughts, taxing his mind, clouding every attempt to dismiss it. He got up & began to make coffee. Mrs. Hudson hadn't been in with her ritualistic tea; having been so moved by his return, & believing him to be lonely without John, she brought him tea every morning. The coffee was ready. Black, two sugars. He winced, instantly recalling how he demanded it of Molly years ago, & guilt that only could be surpassed by the guilt he felt when he revealed his alive-ness to John filled his mind. How stupid he had been. Selfish, childish, unkind, unfeeling. How he had prided himself on these attributes! How he reveled in his sense of superiority to others that succumbed to these weak failings! And now...now he felt them all imploding around him.

"Morning Sherlock! You're up early," said Mrs. Hudson, entering the flat.

"Is it? I hadn't noticed."

"Well...the sun is out. I'd say it's morning," she was pouring out the tea. "Something troubling you, dear?"

"No. Why do you ask?" He was a bit abrupt in his retort.

"Well...you're having coffee, aren't you? That's out of habit."

"I'm...fine," and he sat in his chair.

"If you don't want to talk about it, you don't need to."

"I know I don't need to," and he paused. "Was there ever a time, was there ever a person, whom you...loved?"

"Well, Mr. Hudson, I suppose...strange man he was. Why? Missing John?" She nodded knowingly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes & got up. "Of course I miss John. One gets used to his incessant ramblings, bad habits, endless parades of girlfriends," his voice faded a touch at the last bit.

"We are talking about John?" She snickered.

No response. He was fiddling with his cup.

"Jealous?"

He turned. "Jealous? Of what? Whom?"

"Why, Mary of course," Mrs. Hudson got up then, too.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm certain that all of your observations are pearls to someone in the world, but rest assured, that person is not in this room," and he directed her to the door.

"You know, I sometimes wonder why I bother," and she left in a huff.

"I have no idea," and the slammed the door shut.

Poor Mrs. Hudson. She loved him, & he was dreadful to her. He had spent so much time making amends to John for what he had done to him, he had neglected the rest of them. He needed to set it right. He'd start with Mrs. Hudson, LeStrade...and of course...Molly. He'd save her for last. Didn't want to reflect on that too much just yet.

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The next morning, Mrs. Hudson went into her kitchen to find a beautiful new tea set with a card perched on the tray. It read:

Made you tea. Use these & let me know how they are. I've started breakfast upstairs.

~Sherlock


	5. Chapter 5

He had started to drift a couple of times. LeStrade was going on about his wife, something about a dog, & Anderson & Donovan mucking things up on a case. Sherlock knew enough to smile occasionally & nod in agreement, but not much beyond. He was trying, truly, but it was an agonising way to spend an evening. When LeStrade was full gone, Sherlock decided it was time to call it. He received no objection from the inebriated detective inspector.

They were in front of LeStrade's flat.

"Well, thanks, Sherlock. This was...nice?"

"It was?"

"Yeah. As far as a night at the pub goes," he was getting out.

"Good. Good," he was pleased. "Well, try & sleep it off, then." He was rather desperate to leave. And without preamble, the cab took off.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The banging on the door was incredibly irritating, especially at this time of night. Mycroft had finished his brandy & was closing his laptop. He couldn't fathom who was disturbing his solitude in such a manner. He went to the door to find a panicked looking younger brother standing opposite.

"Sherlock! It's 2am. What on earth...?"

"Mycroft. I need your help," & he brushed past him.

"Whatever with? Is everything all right?"

Sherlock turned toward Mycroft after slinging his coat on the chair. He had a look of despondency about his countenance.

"No," he began. "I've been - how to put it..." & he ruffled his hair & wrung his hands. Mycroft shifted his weight, dreading what was about to be said. "Attempting to...set things right. I'm...I take much for granted, & I can't afford to do that anymore."

"Yes..."

"Yes," and off he went, pacing about the room. "I was just at the pub with LeStrade..."

"Sorry? The pub? Is that wise?"

"I'm fine, Mycroft. Had one drink," he said, irritably. "However, that's not the point."

"Well, do get to it brother. Much to do, & there's sleep to consider..."

"It's Friday night. Take a day off."

Mycroft was affronted. Sherlock had little room to talk...day off, indeed.

Sherlock continued on, "So...I've taken care of John, being his Best Man, Magnussen, & so on. Mrs. Hudson & her tea, etc., LeStrade with the pub...that leaves Molly."

"You're composing a list?"

"Obviously."

"I see," Mycroft then sat.

Sherlock looked at him a moment, & resumed his pace. "I don't know what to do...I took her on those cases...but that was prior to my realisation."

"Of your love?" Mycroft asked, with a smirk.

Sherlock winced. "Just so."

"Well...there's the traditional route. Flowers, dinner, the usual romantic rubbish."

"You mean a proper date?"

"It is the custom."

Sherlock sat finally. "I don't like it. I'd rather just...tell her. Out with it & be done."

The smirk hadn't left Mycroft's face. "You see the difficulty, though, surely."

Sherlock gave no indication that he did.

Sighing loudly, Mycroft began: "Sherlock, you've spent how many years rebuffing her advances, ignoring her attention, using her in a truly vile manner? Admittedly, your behaviour has improved marginally toward her, but she has clearly moved on. She was engaged, was she not?"

Sherlock nodded the affirmative.

"Exactly. I believe you'll need to undo some of that damage, if you hope to win her over," Mycroft finished.

"But...shouldn't she be pleased?" He felt dejected.

"She might be. Or, she might be pissed off."

Sherlock stood in irritation. "Damnable emotions," he muttered.

"Quite. I told you not to get involved."

"What do I do?" He looked pathetic, & Mycroft felt sorry for him.

"You could leave it, you know. Improve your behaviour & see what happens..."

"Or...?"

"Or go to her flat & proclaim yourself. But you should prepare yourself for any number of reactions," Mycroft smiled at the thought.

"Neither seem attractive at present. I'll go & think on it..." He readied himself to leave. "Thank you, Mycroft," and he held out his hand, thought about it, & proceeded to embrace him.

"Sherlock! What on earth?!" He struggled free. "Yes...good night, brother."

He nodded & left.

Mycroft laughed as Sherlock took his leave. How he loved him. Likely the only person in this world whom he genuinely cared for. He hoped it would work out for him, & Molly Hooper flashed in front of his mind's eye. Perhaps he could be of use...


	6. Chapter 6

He was awake most of the night. He paced. He longed for a cigarette. He thought of the shoe...then he thought again & deemed it unwise. By the time it was morning, he was positively beside himself. He was irritated, he was complacent. He felt sudden tremors overtake his body, & simultaneously felt the need to sleep for days. He was distracted to the point of abjection, & thought if this is what love is, he'd be well to leave it alone. Instead, he took out his cigarettes & lit one.

He longed to see Molly & yet dreaded it. He thought about what it would mean to declare himself to her. He attempted to predict her reactions, both the good & the bad, but each time proved worse than the last. He was unsure of what he would do if her response was favorable. He was, after all, quite inexperienced. But what if she told him to piss off? That was surely worse. A life without Molly Hooper was almost as unimaginable as a life without John Watson, & he was very nearly experiencing that. Sherlock Holmes smoked his cigarette deeply & considered the problem as the nicotine slowly made its way to his frayed nerves. What should be done? Perhaps it would be wisest to do as Mycroft suggested. Perhaps improve a touch more toward her, & let her dictate his actions...

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Molly Hooper was walking home, as per her habit on spring evenings. The chill was refreshing, but the humidity was certainly present. She smiled to herself, content in her resolve to be happy, no matter what. Her break up with Tom was certainly difficult at the outset, for she was happy to think of herself as someone's wife. She thought that she could be content being anyone's wife, as long as she was loved; but that was not entirely true, as she later learned. Her preoccupation with Sherlock Holmes had proven that. She hadn't known about Tom's involvement in dubious activities, but that just illustrated how blind she was to anyone that wasn't the detective. She knew him. She understood him, probably better than she understood herself (case in point, Tom). She was in love with him, & likely always would be. Her friends had dismissed her feelings, so she stopped talking about it. Her mum, whom she spoke to but little, laughed at her silly schoolgirl attitude, so she didn't bring it up anymore. She had successfully denied her heart for so long, she decided that it wasn't worth the effort & best to ignore it. Marry someone that loves her.

Dreadful mistake, that was, but she was better for it. Her heart could break again & again, she would ignore it. She was an expert by now, so much so that when she saw Sherlock, she hardly betrayed a thing. It was doubtful she even liked him, let alone love him. But love him she did, & a tiny bit of her died every time she saw him.

Had she known what was secretly in his heart, she might be less hardened by the whole of it. Had she the privilege of that bit of information, knowing him as she did, she might allow herself to let go of the steadfast grip she had on her own heart. It was suffocating, sometimes, & it made her sick. But she was ignorant, the cruel joke that it was, & so she walked alone that evening to her flat. She entered for the last time having that impenetrable resolve, for tomorrow, she would begin to doubt herself.


	7. Chapter 7

He had showered. He had paced sufficiently. He briefly considered calling John & letting him in on the whole of it, but then decided he had a rather lot to be getting on with - the baby, Mary being an adorable killer - it was enough. He had thought perhaps he should bring Molly a trinket, & decided that was no good. If he was going to let her dictate his actions, he shouldn't cloud it by being forward. No. He had a genuine reason for going to the lab, he would make certain to be kind, & that would be that.

He ruffled his hair nervously. He grabbed his coat. And he was off.

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Molly was just sitting down to the microscope when she heard the lab door slam shut. She didn't look up, it was by far a normal occurrence. She nearly flew off of her chair when she heard the voice.  
>"Good morning, Miss Hooper."<br>Collecting herself, she smiled at Mycroft. "Hi...Mycroft. You gave me a start," she rearranged the supplies that had been knocked askew.  
>"Apologies. How are you this morning?"<br>"Call me Molly, please. I'm fine," she replied. She wished to know his purpose, so "What can I help you with?" was her follow up.  
>"Well...I'm glad you phrased it thus. I am in a fix," he said.<br>"Oh?" Now he had her attention.  
>"Yes. I understand that you had helped my brother not so long ago on one of his crime-solving excursions."<br>"Yes...I did," she recalled the day perfectly. It had been the most fun she had had in so long...it was the day she began to doubt herself regarding Tom.  
>"Yes. Well...Molly..." and he smiled, "you see, John Watson isn't available nearly as much as Sherlock would like. I rather thought, if you were agreeable, that you might like to step in on occasion. Of course, when you aren't needed here."<br>"Oh. Well, why doesn't he ask me like he did before? I'd be happy..."  
>"Sherlock is a stubborn sort. I'm afraid he will think he's ill-using you &amp; come to me instead. I cannot be bothered with such trivia, Molly. I am a busy man. You understand..." he was indelicate, but Molly could forgive it.<br>"Would you like me to mention it, then? See if he needs help?"  
>"That is very generous of you. Yes...I think you'll find him most receptive to that," &amp; he shook her hand. "Good day, then, Molly. Thank you for being so accommodating. I hope to see you again...er...soon." He finished awkwardly.<br>Molly thought little of it. She didn't know Mycroft well, & from what she knew of him she expected that sort of behavior. He was, after all, a Holmes.

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She was distracted. She was in her office, massaging her neck after many hours hunched over a cadaver. The reports weren't going to finish themselves, but she needed to get up & move about. She exited her office & went into the lab.  
>There, sitting at his microscope, was Sherlock.<br>She thought of Mycroft, & decided to see how he was.  
>"Hi Sherlock. You didn't come &amp; fetch me. Simple research today, then?"<br>Sherlock looked up. He hadn't realized until that moment that it was the first time he had seen her since admitting his love to himself. She looked different. Her face almost glowed. Her smile, intoxicating. He cleared his throat, "You were in your office...I brought you this," and he handed her a cup of coffee. White, one sugar.  
>"Oh. Thanks, Sherlock."<br>He smiled & turned back to his work. "How are you?" He asked.  
>She sipped the coffee. Perfect. "I'm good," she looked at the table. "What are you working on?"<br>He proceeded to explain everything he was doing with the hair samples & dirt found at the bottom of Mrs. Hudson's shoe. While interesting, Molly kept thinking about being on a case with him again, sharing laughs, looks, private jokes. He was truly one of her best friends. No...likely her best. Her girlfriends were, as a rule, rather dull. Molly longed for excitement, & Sherlock Holmes was never boring. He also had the most sexy of voices...stop it, Molly. He's talking to you, don't be rude. "So, it's not for a case, then?"  
>"Well, no. I don't have a case on presently."<br>"Oh."  
>"What?"<br>"Well...I was just thinking...if it was for a case...perhaps I might...help?" She finished with an air of uncertainty she didn't like.  
>"You mean...you'd like to help me on a case again?"<br>She smiled a touch. "If you like. If you think I could be useful."  
>Sherlock smiled widely. What a wonderful turn of events. "Yes! I mean..." He cleared his throat again. "Yes. That'd be very...good. I'll just text you when I have something that requires leg work?"<br>"Wonderful," & she left to finish up her work.  
>Well well. Sherlock sat back in his chair. This was good luck. Surely he could prove himself when he was in his element...<p>

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Mycroft received the text from Molly & smiled. He'd send one of his men to Sherlock in the morning, and that would be that.


	8. Chapter 8

Molly was readying herself for work. She hummed a tune while preparing her coffee. Yesterday had been marvellous, & she reflected on it.

Sherlock had texted her in the morning, less than two days after she had offered to help him on cases. She arrived at Baker Street & he greeted her with tea. The client came about 10 minutes later, after Sherlock had filled her in on the case: Client concerned about his boss, mixed up in drugs or something. He always set him on the strangest of errands, & the client didn't want to be implicated.

They went to the building, & after examining the place, Sherlock deduced it was a front, & the boss was arrested. Client upset, out of a job, Sherlock pleased, Molly impressed. All in a days work.

They went for Chinese afterward to discuss the case. He was enthusiastic. Molly was rapt.

He walked her home, & upon leaving her, offered his thanks & said that he'd be grateful if she'd accompany him again on her next day off. Of course she would.

Molly went up to her flat with a flutter in her chest.

At Bart's there was a note waiting for her.

Thank you for your help. Do allow me to have you for dinner as a way to properly thank you.

Come to Baker Street immediately following your shift.

-SH

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Sherlock was in the kitchen mucking about with shoestrings & acid. Mycroft was heard entering. Sherlock sighed deeply.

"Well, Mycroft. How are you this morning?"

"I'm well, brother. Kind of you to inquire," & he entered the kitchen fully. "You should consider tidying up before this evening. It won't do to have the kitchen in such a state."

Sherlock was used to his brother being cryptic, but this took him aback. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Molly will be coming to dinner. Best have the place looking...er...well...better than it is at present," he answered, scanning the place with a bit of a scowl.

"Molly is coming to dinner?"

"That's right," Mycroft said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Sherlock took off his goggles & set down the instruments. "What have you done?"

Mycroft Holmes smiled broadly. "I sent that chap over yesterday, & I sent Molly a note this morning inviting her here for dinner. A very fine Italian restaurant will be delivering your meal exactly 20 minutes before her arrival. You should declare yourself after dessert," he finished.

"You did what?" Sherlock was dumbstruck.

"Didn't you hear me?"

"Do you mean to tell me that irritating fellow was a plant?"

"Just so."

Sherlock left the kitchen, feeling very put off. He went to the sitting room, shoved his hands in his pockets & turned around to face Mycroft. "While I appreciate your...kind interference...I rather wish you would've consulted with me first. This is awkward, Mycroft."

"Nonsense. It's perfect. Research shows that a nice bottle of wine, some chocolate & a full stomach all lend themselves to a propensity toward acceptance of ridiculous notions," he finished.

"My declaration is ridiculous? I rather think carrying an umbrella in full sun closer fits the definition."

"Or wearing a Belstaff coat in August..."

Sherlock walked up to Mycroft with a glare. "Don't. Mention. My. Coat."

"Yes...well. Best be off. Do clean up, Sherlock," he said, adjusting his own jacket. "Might as well get used to it. Molly will want to pass her time in a tidy flat." And he left.

It was difficult to be too angry with Mycroft. He was, after all, attempting to help. But Sherlock didn't feel nearly ready enough to make any declaration. Still, having her over for dinner would be nice...


	9. Chapter 9

A person who didn't frequent 221B may not have thought much of it. It was a flat, a bit eccentric, but just a flat. To someone who had the privilege (?) of visiting the place would be astounded. It was as close to immaculate as it had ever been. Sherlock had spent the entire day tidying up, mostly from nerves, but cleaning just the same. He played with the idea of candles, flowers & such, but decided against it. Bit much. No...he was in earnest when he told Mycroft that he wasn't ready to declare anything. Much too soon for all that.

Mrs. Hudson came upstairs to announce the food was at the door, made some remark concerning the state of the flat, & went back downstairs.

Three bottles. Mycroft had ordered three bottles of wine. Well, he'd just put the other two away. They wouldn't go to waste.

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Molly changed into the spare clothes she kept at work; just a pair of jeans & a nicer tee shirt. She was a bit nervous going to Sherlock's, but couldn't account for it. Silly thought. Why would she be nervous?

She took a cab, as she was running a touch late.

She arrived, & ascended the stairs. Sherlock was playing his violin, looking out onto the street below. Beautiful. Not wanting to disturb him, she stood in the doorway.

"Lingering in doorways suggests mal-intent," he said, not yet looking at her.

"Sorry. Didn't want to disturb you."

"You're my guest. Why would you be disturbing me?" He looked at her smilingly.

She returned the smile & walked in. "Sherlock! What have you done?"

"What do you mean?" And he looked about, slightly alarmed.

"Did you...did you...clean?"

"Oh. That. Yes, a bit," he took her coat.

"A bit?" Molly scanned the place. Everything was in order, & the flat smelled clean. Strange thing, this. Unexpected.

She walked into the kitchen to find wine, salads, & seafood pasta on pretty dishes.

"I didn't know you cooked. Or had china, for that matter."

"No. I don't. The food is take out & the china is Mrs. Hudson's. I can cook, however. When pressed," and he pulled out a chair for her.

After pouring out the wine, he held his glass up, "To friendship."

"Friendship," Molly returned, & the tucked in.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The laughter was obnoxious. Sherlock needed to keep reminding Molly to keep it down, Mrs. Hudson would hear.

"But she's so OLD Sherlock. She can't hear much."

"Shhhh...stop it," & he slapped her knee.

They were drunk, having finished all three bottles, & working on scotch.

"You stop!" & she tickled him.

"I'll swill! Still! Ah...spill..."

And she laughed so hard tears streamed down her face.

"Oh my god. Oh!" Suddenly recalling something. "Did Mary actually shoot you?"

He finished the scotch & poured out more. "Yep," & settled back into the sofa. They were sitting quite close, almost leaning against one another, but not quite.

"And that's ok?"

"No. Well, yes. John loves her."

"You must love John very much."

"I...yes. I suppose I do."

Molly smiled. "That's nice, Sherlock," & she raised her glass.

"I love him, yes. He's my friendest dear. Mindset friend..." None of it made sense. He glanced at Molly, who was staring at him. She was lovely. "You are lovely, Molly Hooper," his voice emerging much deeper than he intended.

"So are you," & she blushed deeply, looked away.

He took her chin into his hand. "Molly..."

Her heart was racing. It was the wine...the scotch...the chocolate...he wouldn't be behaving this way if not for all of that. "Yeah?" she said, gulping, looking at him.

He dropped his hand, losing his nerve. He attempted to stand, but his balance was off, & he fell backwards, back onto the sofa. Molly laughed once more. "Best not try that again!"

"No. Indeed."

"You know, Sherlock," she was yawning. "John might be your best friend, but you're mine..."

"Molly..." He was sitting forward, elbows on his knees. Molly sat back against the sofa. "It means the world that you consider me your best friend...but I...I have discovered that you are even more dear to me than that..." He looked behind him. She was fast asleep. He smiled. He stumbled up to retrieve a blanket & pillow. He situated her so that she was laying down comfortably, & pulled her feet onto his lap. He leaned his head back & sighed.


	10. Chapter 10

Molly Hooper's eyes were having a difficult time opening. Her head felt absolutely dreadful. Alright, Miss Molly. Open your eyes. And she did.

She was on a sofa, her feet slightly elevated. She recognized the place...ah, yes. Sherlock's place. Dinner. Wine. Drunken silliness. She quickly looked under the blanket to ascertain the state of her clothing. Still on. She began to move when she heard a noise & felt a tug at her feet. At the other end of the sofa, holding her feet, sat Sherlock, fast asleep.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm."

"Wake up, Sherlock...I need my feet. Need to...ah...use the loo."

His eyes began to open. "Molly?"

"Hello," and she smiled.

Her returned her smile. "What are we doing here?" His mind wanted to race, but it was though he had no fuel. It was stuttering, attempting to start. "Coffee," he declared. "No tea," and he stood. He entered the kitchen & saw the mess. "Damn," he said. He scratched his head, took off his jacket, & put a pot of coffee on before setting to work.

Molly emerged from the bathroom. "Got any aspirin?" And she filled two glasses of water.

"Yeah...just above your head."

'Next to the Petri dishes?"

"That's it." He smiled at her candor, not caring that his kitchen was a laboratory.

"Here," she handed him two aspirin as he stacked the dishes.

"Coffee will be ready in a minute if you'd like a wash."

Molly looked at him quizzically. "You mean, have a bath?"

"Yes of course. I'm having one. You can go first if you like."

"Oh," Molly thought it was odd, but also thought it was a lovely idea. It'd be nice to have a bath after sleeping on the sofa, & off she went.

She emerged a short while later. Sherlock handed her a cup, & the kitchen was clean. "It looks...really great. You got it done so fast."

"Hmmm. Yes. When I set my mind to it. And after a considerable amount of caffeine..." He began to make his way to the bathroom. "Make yourself at home. I'll be out in a minute."

Molly smiled & poured herself some more coffee. How different he was. How different, indeed, was she. Tom was a psychopath, & she didn't care. Sherlock would never love her, & she minded but little. She loved him, he was her friend, & that would have to be good enough. It nearly was. They were closer than ever. She sighed & sipped her coffee.

Out of nowhere, Mycroft came in the kitchen. He seemed a bit surprised to see her. "Molly! Still here?"

"Hi Mycroft. Yeah, got a bit tipsy & ah...passed out on the sofa. Sherlock's having a bath."

Mycroft looked at her with a critical eye. "Is he?" And he looked at the bathroom door. "Tell me, how was your dinner last evening?"

"Oh, it was lovely, really."

"Did you...enjoy dessert?"

"Yes..." She felt as though she was missing something.

"Excellent. And Sherlock, was he a pleasant companion?"

"He was fine."

"Just fine?"

"Mycroft, what are you getting at?"

"He's not getting at anything, Molly. He's leaving." Sherlock was standing in the doorway, fully dressed, his hair still wet.

"Brother, good morning. Do tell me...what were my efforts for if you stand there in the same exact position you were in 24 hours ago? Though, perhaps a touch more wet."

"You're leaving, Mycroft."

"No. I'm not. Tell her. You obviously haven't yet. Tell her & be done."

"Tell me what?" Molly was excessively confused.

Sherlock glared menacingly at his brother. "Nothing. Good morning, Mycroft."

"Hang on. Is this about Tom? I told you...I haven't seen him, he hasn't been in touch..."

"It's not about Tom, Molly. It's about my brother," Mycroft turned toward Sherlock. "Tell her, or I will."

"So help me god, Mycroft..."

"It's for your own good," he then turned to Molly. "Molly, it appears that my brother..."

"Needs more lab access," Sherlock interrupted.

Mycroft, having been rudely cut off, looked at Sherlock.

Molly looked at him sadly. "So...that's what all this was for, then? Lab access? You still angling for a key?"

"It would be nice," he said with a smirk.

Molly's eyes welled in anger. "Access. I give you all the access you need, & then some. You don't need to play with my emotions, my mind, to get more access," her voice was rising. "You already had it - always, because you had me. I can't believe that I sat here, thinking..." She blushed & shook in anger.

Sherlock was desperate, "Molly...please, calm down."

"I won't! You've done it again, Sherlock.. You've succeeded in making me feel like a complete idiot, even though I've sworn that I'd never, never let you do that again. And I am an idiot! But don't worry, I won't make that mistake again," and she quitted the flat.

Sherlock's face was red. "Wonderful! Lovely. You've just completely fucked up my chance. Now what am I supposed to do?"

Mycroft shuffled his feet. "Don't worry. I'll set it right."

"How? How will you do that?"

"Sherlock, tomorrow at this time, you & Molly will be sharing breakfast under much better circumstances. Mark my words."


	11. Chapter 11

What she hated most was the fact that she had an over night shift waiting for her, & she was dead tired. Her emotions exhausted. Her mind tingling. He was such a prat. She had honestly believed that he was trying to show her that he cared, truly cared, about her. He had stated as much, but now he was trying to honestly do more. Be a friend to her. What a stupid thing to think.

She arrived at her flat & tossed her keys & such on the sofa. She sighed heavily, rubbed her face. She thought about the cigarettes she kept in the refrigerator for months on end, never telling anyone about them, only smoking on very rare occasions. When was the last time? She thought about it. Yes. When Sherlock had come back, almost a year ago. Surely they were stale now.

He was the source of her stress. He was the one who constantly caused the hurt in her life. And he didn't care. She inhaled the cigarette deeply. Stale. No matter.

She was fooling herself to think that she was over it all. She tried to tell herself, but it never worked. Over & over she would attempt to rid herself of the man, but always she went back. She wasn't that type of person, ordinarily. She was strong, bright, even clever. But he was her best friend. And much much more. No matter what her other silly friends told her, no matter what her mum said, she was in love with him. Fuck.

She needed to get away. She could move back home, get a job. This... thing, it was unhealthy. She was smoking, for gods sake. She would begin a job hunt tomorrow. Yes. Best just to be done.

There was a knock on her door. Strange, that was. She got up to answer, forgetting about the lingering smell of smoke in the air.

Sherlock Holmes was standing there, head down.

"May I come in?"

"Why?"

"You've been smoking?"

"I have."

"Since when?" He couldn't recall ever having smelled it before on her...but then, yes. When he had stayed with her those few times, there was a pack in the refrigerator.

"Since you are a complete & utter asshole."

He nodded. "Should I just stand here, then? Apologies can be made in doorways."

She stepped aside to grant him access. "Well, go on."

"My brother had thought of whisking us away in his jet. Somewhere secluded..." He wasn't facing her. His fingers were gliding along the back of the chair he would sit in while he stayed with her. "I told him not to be ridiculous. I didn't need to take you away with me to do what I should've done a year ago."

Molly stood, arms folded, ready to strike.

Sherlock finally turned towards her. "I am sorry, Molly. I am sorry that I've made you feel badly. That was certainly never my intention..." He moved toward her. "I...was attempting, rather clumsily, to show you how very much you mean to me. I suppose..." His eyes lowered, "...that I've always known, but in my attempts at saving face, at not truly understanding what it was I was experiencing, coupled with a very strong desire to keep you safe, I never really...I suppose I took you for granted," he stopped to look at her.

Molly smiled. "I understand, Sherlock. I..."

"I'm not finished," he interrupted. "Molly, have you never wondered why I have dissected every one of your...boyfriends?" He choked out the word. She simply stared. "Why I asked you to assist me at my work?" He stepped closer. "Why, indeed, I've kept you at arms length, except when absolutely necessary?" He stopped. "These instances may seem contradictory, & perhaps they are, but they all have the same indelible answer."

Molly was rapt. Her heart was pounding. "What?"

"Because I love you. I'm in love with you."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

She snapped out of it. "Sherlock, what do you want me to say?"

"Well...I suppose...you love me as well might be...ah...desirable."

"Yes. I suppose it would."

"But...I'm too late," again, he dropped his eyes.

"No. But, Jesus, Sherlock. Honestly, what...how am I supposed to take this? You love me? An hour ago you told me that you were using me for lab access."

"I wasn't prepared..."

"Ok. But you'll need to wait. I'm not ready. I was just...before you got here...just coming to the conclusion that I should leave London to get away from you."

Sherlock looked up in confusion. "You what?"

"Yes...so. I can't just turn my emotions off & on like that. You'll need to wait."

He smiled at her, & nodded. "So...wait. Ok. How long?"

"How long? I suppose that depends on what you're speaking of. To date? Now. Sex...well, let's just see how it goes," & she smiled for the first time since he arrived.

He stepped so that he was directly in front of her. "Alright...but I need to do this..." His hands rose to her face, his head bent down to Molly's. Her intake of breath was sharp as his mouth found hers. They kissed tenderly at first, but as it lingered, the passion increased, until he had her pinned against the wall.

"Stop, Sherlock," she breathed.

He stopped abruptly. "Sorry. Sorry." His breath was heavy. "I'll get going then..."

"Alright," Molly felt confused. Were they in a relationship? Was she supposed to call him? "Ah...so. Shall I give you a ring later tomorrow? I work all night."

He looked confused as well. "No! I'll bring you food this evening."

"At work?"

"Of course."

Molly was unsure. He was moving fast. "No. I'll call tomorrow. Ok?"

His face fell, but he felt best not to press it. "Ok then. Tomorrow afternoon." He moved to leave.

"Sherlock..."

"Hmm?"

"Are we...are you...my...are we in a relationship?" She needed to hear him say it.

He smiled, turned, took her hand & kissed it. "We are," & he left.

Molly was still against the wall. She slid down it, laughing, with tears streaming down her face & her hand covering her mouth.


	12. Chapter 12

Mycroft was watching the time. It had been an extremely trying day. Sherlock had declined his offer to help with Molly, & he felt badly for it. Truly, it was his intention to aid him, but somehow it got mucked up. He would visit him again that evening to ascertain the damage & see if anything further could be done.

He ascended the stairs & peeked into the flat.

"Hello? Sherlock?"

His brother emerged from the kitchen.

"Hello, Mycroft. Twice in one day? To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Mycroft entered, & noted that while Sherlock seemed much better, there was certainly something that remained amiss.

"How are we, then?"

"Fine," replied the detective, & returned to the kitchen.

"All sorted with Molly?"

"Sorted."

"And?"

He began to tidy up the table, having made a mess of it once more. "And...we are in a relationship."

"Excellent," and he smiled. "Good news indeed," he noted his brother's reserve. "But...are you unsure? You seem...out of sorts for someone in the newfound bliss of love."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft. To be sure, there was worry etched across his face. Should he confide in him & risk humiliation?

"Well...the thing is..." he went to the sitting room & looked out the window. Drawing in a deep breath, he began, " It's silly, I know. But I'm afraid I am letting the concern of my considerable inexperience get the best of me. Molly has had...numerous relationships. She has had, & I know this for a fact, lots of sex. I've had neither."

Mycroft's face betrayed confusion. "You mean...you've never had...ah...sex?"

Sherlock looked at him now, hands in pockets, & shook his head.

"Well. Yes," he considered how to handle this. "And I trust, you've never been in a relationship, then..."

"Not as an adult, no. It's extremely unlikely I would have been in one & not lost my virginity, is it not?"

Mycroft nodded. "Yes."

" I thought you knew this about me."

"Not at all. Why would I? I never concern myself with such things, & we've never discussed it..." He felt bad for his brother. He had no idea his inexperience was so great. "Have you mentioned this to Molly?"

"No. She said she wanted to wait to engage in sexual intercourse. I left it at that."

"Good then. You'll have time to gain some confidence. Make yourself more comfortable around her." He smiled. He saw this as the solution, & couldn't fathom why Sherlock still appeared nervous.

"Yes...but it isn't only the sex...I have no idea what to do. Other than dinner...what does one do in a relationship of this sort?"

Mycroft sat down in John's chair. "Ah, brother, I think you'll need to ask Molly that one. She can direct you."

Sherlock sat. "Have you had any experience in this...area?"

"Some."

"And?"

"I've ...well...there's the theater, sitting at home, watching some silly film, walks, cafés, etc."

"Wasn't it...boring?"

"Yes. But if you ...ah...care, about the person, then spending time doing silly things doesn't seem like such a chore."

Sherlock sat back in his chair. He steepled his fingers under his chin, & closed his eyes. He considered doing these things with Molly. No, probably wouldn't be so bad...he then considered having sex with her, & how he would handle that. He had seen enough pornography to understand the mechanics, but he also knew that most women wanted a bit more than to be fucked numerous times in different positions. There needed to be some tenderness to it all. He had some sensual experiences at university, but he never truly lost his virginity. He had always believed that it would cloud his mind, for he was passionate, & if that were to occur, he was fearful of his reason being abandoned in favor of sentiment. And here he was.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you...alright?"

"Yes Mycroft. I'm fine."

"Well. Think I'll be going, then." He received no reply, so he got up & left.

Sherlock was deep in thought. He was thinking about the next time he'd see Molly, & if he should be forthright with her concerning his inexperience.


	13. Chapter 13

It was her day off, so she decided to go & visit her boyfriend. Jesus. Her boyfriend.

She hadn't seen him since that day in her flat, & though they exchanged numerous texts (mostly him complaining about a client, or John not being available, or, twice, missing her), & two phone calls (both times he had called her, asking when she was done at Bart's, please text when she gets home, does she like pizza, does she prefer to eat out or in), she rather missed him. She texted to see if he was around (yes, just back from NSY, huge mess, that was), & perhaps she could come over? (Of course, she needn't ask permission)

So, off she went. When she arrived, she noted the churning in her stomach, & how ill timed it was. Why, why was she nervous? She of course, knew the answer. Her dream had been realised, & now it was time to act. She was serious about the sex thing. And yet...

"Sherlock?" She tapped the wooden doorway. Walking in, she noticed it was dimly lit.

"Hello."

Molly screamed & turned to see Sherlock holding two glasses of red wine, & he handed her one.

"You & your brother sure know how to startle a girl," she said, accepting the glass.

"My brother?"

"Yes. He came upon me at the lab a couple of weeks..." she stopped there. "Never mind. Thanks for the wine," & she took a sip.

"Well, Molly. How was Bart's?" He had researched that inquiring after your partner's day/work/life was part of the formula, & he thought it was perfectly rational to ask.

They went & sat on the sofa.

"Fine. Bit boring, actually. But fine all the same," she sipped some more, & looked intently at Sherlock. She could kiss him now, & it wouldn't matter. That one...at her flat...it had sent her mind reeling. It took much to stop him. She began to fantasise about him, all the while looking directly at him.

'Are you alright Molly?"

"Hmm? What? Yes! Fine," she blushed. Why was she blushing in front of her boyfriend? Stop it, Molly. "How was your day?" And off he went, talking hurriedly, & she didn't hear a word. She imagined him leading her back to his bedroom, not uttering a word, kissing her on her neck while lifting up her shirt...

"And then I told him that they were related & the dog had stolen the wallet by his owners dead body," Sherlock finished.

"Oh. Wow," she drank again, & put the glass down. "Sherlock?"

He wasn't facing her. He downed his wine. "Hmmm?"

She touched his shoulder. His back stiffened a bit. Molly dropped her hand & sighed. "Are you having doubts?" Her heart was in her throat.

He turned abruptly toward her. "What? Why? What makes you think that?'

"Because...you seem...nervous."

He swallowed & got up, began to pace.

Great. He was going to break up with her after 48 hours, & she didn't even get a shag in.

"No. I'm not having doubts...but I am nervous, you're right," he stopped his pace.

"About what?"

He cleared his throat. "Everything."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Molly," he put his hands in his pockets. "I have...little experience in this. I've never had...a proper...girlfriend," his voice dropped an octave at that last word.

"Oh."

"Oh? You say that a lot."

She got up, walked over to him, & took his hands in hers. "Sherlock. Are you...a virgin?"

His ears went red. Thank god she wasn't looking at him. He fidgeted. "I am. Yes."

Then she looked up & smiled. "Don't worry. We can take it slow, & when you're ready, it'll be lovely." She stood on tiptoes & kissed his mouth tenderly. He pulled away & looked at her. "Thank you."

"Wonderful. Let's go & find something to eat, then," Molly was putting on her coat.

He thought if she suggested something French he'd demand they stay in.

"Let's get some chips. We can finish the wine later," & she was out the door with her boyfriend smiling in her wake, thinking about how lucky he was to have her, for not only was his experience not a problem, but they were going out for chips per her suggestion.


	14. Chapter 14

And so it was, for many weeks: Molly stopping by Baker Street, laughing, cooking, going out. She would assist him on cases occasionally, she would clean up the messes in the flat while he was out with John. Things were going quite well. She was concerned, however, that the longer they waited to actually have sex, the more difficult it would be when the time came. She considered bringing it up in conversation, but thought perhaps it might make him uncomfortable. No. Best not.

For Sherlock, the first week or so was a relief. The pressure of sex completely lifted. He revelled in spending time with Molly, for as much as he had believed her to be the perfect match for him before, he could see now that there was absolutely no one else he could ever imagine being so intimate with. Their minds worked surprisingly in tandem. They had the same sense of humour, the same pallet, enjoyed similar recreation. If not for the slight differences in crap telly viewing, & her propensity toward fiction novels, they'd hardly disagree at all.

For the past two weeks or so, however, he had begun to notice things about her he hadn't before. Her mouth when she smiled crookedly at him. The depths of her eyes when she was lost in thought. The way she moved when she thought she wasn't being watched. The way her clothes clung to her (however aesthetically wanting they were). But mostly, how much she touched him - when she laughed, when they sat next to one another on the sofa, when cleaning up the kitchen - all were slight brushes, or leans, an occasional squeeze, & his responses were becoming more severe each day.

At first, nothing happened. But after a few days, his skin would prickle at the touch. A few more, & a warm feeling descended upon him, & his breath would catch. After nearly a month, he found himself both longing for & dreading her touch; for he was concerned that she would begin to notice the bulge beginning to form in his trousers with alarming frequency. He would need to act, & act soon.

He thought for this very particular instance, John Watson might be a better choice for council.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Right. So the murderer was...who, exactly?" John was confused.

Sherlock sighed. "The lacrosse player. Didn't you notice his socks?"

John shook his head. No, he hadn't noticed.

Sherlock put the kettle on & decided it was time to bring up the subject.

"John..."

He had just picked up the Times. "Yeah? You see this? Why is sex always so sensationalised? In the Times, no less."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "As I understand, sex is rather complicated."

This gave John pause. "Complicated? How?"

"Well...there's much to consider..."

John smiled. "Such as?"

Sherlock's hands went in his pockets. "Well...there's the whole seduction aspect...performance...er...confidentiality..."

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"You & Molly...you haven't...had intercourse, yet?"

"Kettle's boiled," & he went to fix up the tea.

John got up & followed his friend. "Sherlock?"

He handed him a cup. "No."

"Ah."

"What?"

John sipped the tea. "You're nervous."

Sherlock didn't answer.

"It's alright, mate. Perfectly natural to be nervous. You love her. You want it to be special."

The detective didn't like the way this was going. Love? Special? So contrary to his normal inclinations...but it could not be denied that John was right. Blast.

"Yes. It is as you say. The problem remains, however..."

"It's not a problem, mate. You open a bottle, tell her how beautiful she is, & kiss her. You're thinking about it too much. Can't say I'm surprised," John finished.

Sherlock smiled. He loved John so very much, but this wasn't what he needed to hear.

"Quite right. Thank you, John."

And with that, they sat opposite, sipping their tea.


	15. Chapter 15

When Mycroft opened his door, the first thing he thought was how very tiresome his brother was being. When he allowed him entry, he thought, this had better be good. After he began to speak, he thought, my god. Poor fellow.

Sherlock was bedside himself with concern. He had built up this entire thing so much that he was utterly paralysed. Not that Mycroft was much better, mind. No...not at all. But Mycroft didn't fancy pretty pathologists, he was quite content watching his brother fuss & worry, he'd work & concern himself with other things. But how could he deny him council? He was passionate. He was in such a state.

His fingers ran distractedly through his hair. "Really, Mycroft. A seduction scene was what John proposed - complete with wine, flattery, & a snog."

"What's wrong with that?" He smiled & motioned for Sherlock to sit.

"What's wrong is it's so ordinary. Boring."

"I'd wager you won't think it so terribly dull once you get started."

Sherlock smiled crookedly. "No. But..."

"But what? How else do you propose to handle it? You cannot keep going as you are. You'll explode, & that's a rather unfortunate occurrence no man wishes to experience."

"I dunno Mycroft. I was hoping for something ... Bit more...subtle."

"Nothing subtle about sex, brother."

"No."

"In fact, it's painfully ridiculous. And tiresome. And, if you do it right, wonderful."

Sherlock considered his brother for a moment. He briefly wondered about his experiences, but decided he really didn't want to know. "But..."

"No excuses, Sherlock. You love her, yes?"

He nodded.

"You are attracted to her?"

"Yes."

"Good. Go home. Light some candles. Open some wine. Tell her you love her. Kiss her...& see what happens. And for gods sake, stop thinking," Mycroft stood & ushered his little brother to the door.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Stop thinking. Might as well stop breathing.

But, knowing Mycroft, admiring him as he did, he stopped at the shops to buy candles & some wine.

Molly would be getting home within the hour. They hadn't planned on seeing one another, but he was afraid if it didn't happen tonight, it never would. He sent a text:

Can't recall. Are you working tomorrow?

-S

Molly saw the text. Of course he recalled. He knew her schedule better than she did.

Nope. Day off.

-M

He gave a sharp intake of breath.

Fancy coming to Baker Street after your shift?

-S

Yeah. Ok.

-M

It was done then. She'd be here soon enough. He took out his violin & played Beethoven.


	16. Chapter 16

Molly arrived at 221B. It had been a day like any other. She smelled of the soap from Bart's, her neck hurt, her feet hurt. She thought perhaps she was developing a mlid headache. She noted that Mrs. Hudson must be out, for the light was out in the downstairs hallway, the only light source emerging was from B, upstairs. She began to climb, tired, sore, but anxious to see Sherlock. Perhaps he might agree to rub her feet. Perhaps he had procured some wine. In she went, the light much more dim than appeared in the hall, for now that she gazed upon it, the flat was illuminated by candlelight. She smiled.

"We are all fools in love," emerged a low voice. Molly turned to see Sherlock standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "Austen, Jane. She wrote that bit." He had two glasses of wine, & stepped toward her to hand her one.

"Yes. Pride & Prejudice. It's a really good book," and she smiled.

"I wouldn't know, but I recalled the quote, & it set me thinking."

"Oh?"

He walked over to the window, having finished the wine. "Yes," he cleared his throat, looked out the window, & began. "I've been a very silly man, Molly. My entire life is a series of misadventures, adventures, avoidance, & a certain passion only few understand. I have hardly understood it, I daresay I hardly do even at this moment. But this is what I do know," and at this point he turned toward her, hands in pockets. "I believe that while I've not always loved you so well as I do now, I've always loved you, at least partly. But I am, as I said, foolish. No one has shown me the kindness that you have. No one has proven to me the depths of the human heart as you have. No one, indeed, could have possibly awakened in me the ferocity of feeling that you have done. You are, as Plato termed it, my split apart. My other self. Indeed, my better self," and his eyes welled, & he stepped near her. "I am a fool, Molly, because I have waited so very long to allow myself to reciprocate that which you so generously, so selflessly bestowed upon my unworthy person. I am a fool, because I've always loved you, but never understood it as such. I'm a fool, because these past weeks, I've wanted nothing more than to make love to you, but I didn't know how," he was directly in front of her.

"Sherlock," she interrupted.

He put his fingers to her lips. "I'm a fool, because I'm in love with you, the most beautiful , most kind, most intelligent woman I have ever known. And honestly, who could deny me my foolishness given that?"

"No one."

"No." He took her glass & set it down. He breathed in deeply; the bouquet of scents that always lingered on Molly filled his senses. Soap, lemon, a lingering coffee scent, & her perfume. His eyes closed, & he leaned down to kiss her.


	17. Chapter 17

(Disclaimer: I could never have written Sherlock's speech in the previous chapter had it not been for his Best Man's speech. It is my hope that said speeches mirror one another, for it is my particular belief that he loves John as much as Molly, albeit in quite a different way. And so...here we go)

What could be said of Molly's mind during the confessional she just listened to? What, indeed, as the man whom she had so long desired kissed her mouth tenderly? She nearly cried (but that wouldn't do). No. She needed to let go, hold on, & reciprocate simultaneously. And she did.

His apprehension was severe, her eagerness quelled at the outset. Yet before long, his hands found her face, her hair, the nape of her neck, & he succumbed to the stirring within his depths. Once more, he had her pinned against the wall, kissing every bit of skin he could reach. Her breaths came heavy.

"Not here..."

"I can manage," his voice was muffled.

"I'm sure...but...no. Let's go to the bedroom," & she placed her palms against his chest with some force. She took his hand & led him to the back of the flat.

She stood away from him, & began to undress slowly. She thought that it should be slow, in order to savour it fully. Sherlock watched her, transfixed. When she had taken off her last stitch, she approached him, & began to unbutton his shirt.

"Will you help me, then?" So deep & quiet was his voice that it was barely audible. She answered with a kiss. She deepened it, never leaving his mouth until he too, stood naked against her. To the bed she led him, leaning back onto it, directing him on top of her.

"Molly..."

"S'okay. Let me..."

She placed one of his hands on her breast, while she took his erection & guided it inside of her.

He shook as he entered. They moved, once more, in tandem; delicate at first, but as he lost himself in her, he couldn't contain it. His mind reeled. His senses were overpowered with the world that was Molly Hooper.

When he climaxed, he let out a soft moan, & then laughed. She joined him, & they giggled & laughed for a full five minutes.

"Oh...I am sorry," Sherlock finally said.

"Why?"

"Because...well, I laughed. Because...I didn't last terribly long," he looked at her shyly.

Molly propped herself up. "Sherlock Holmes, don't ever apologise for laughing. There is nothing in this world that I love to listen to more than the sound of your laughter. Well, except perhaps heartfelt declarations..." She smiled. "As for not lasting...that's what practice is for."

He grinned slyly. "Oh. Well, in that case..." & he took her in his arms.


	18. Chapter 18

Something was making sounds. In his kitchen. Something, or someone was mucking about in his flat. Opening his eyes, he realised he was completely naked, it was morning, & he had had sex with Molly. Multiple times. Many wonderful times. He rubbed his eyes. Where was she?

He got up, pulled on some pyjama pants, & went to the kitchen. There was Molly, in one of his robes, preparing breakfast.

"You don't need to do that, you know."

She smiled at him. "I know. But I wanted to. You worked up quite an appetite last night."

His faced bloomed red.

Molly continued. "I'll have you an expert in a fortnight," and she playfully grabbed his side. She'd went to brush her teeth.

When she reemerged, Sherlock went, & she poured out coffee, set out the sausages, eggs, & toast. He joined her, looking a bit nervous.

"What is it?" Molly asked.

"Nothing. Why?"

She studied his face, bearing a quizzical look on her own. "Something's wrong."

He sighed. "Nothing's wrong, Molly."

"Nope...there's something," & she replayed the night in her head (for likely the 100th time). Then something occurred to her. "Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?" He was tucking in already.

"Look at me."

He did as he was bidden.

"You know that I love you, right?"

He nodded the affirmative.

"No. I mean, I love you. I've always loved you. Sherlock?" She reached for his hand. "Do I need to spell it out for you?"

"I..."

"You are a great man. I've always seen that - known that. I wish you could see it, too," she continued. "You don't see yourself the way others do. I see them, when they look at you. I know the way I look at you. You are like...a force. And I cannot believe, after all this time, after I cried, gave up, cried some more, that I'm here, & you love me." She pecked his cheek.

"Thank you for that," he returned.

Molly smiled, squeezed his hand & sipped her coffee.

"Well, Sherlock. Fine morning. Hello, Molly," Mycroft was sauntering in. "Having breakfast, then?"

"Obviously."

"Yes. Looks lovely."

"Would you like some Mycroft?" Molly rose to fetch a cup & such.

"He's on a diet, Molly. Don't bother."

"Oh, I think I can be persuaded," & he helped himself to some eggs.

"What brings you by, brother? Isn't there an election to rig somewhere?"

"You are droll, Sherlock. No...I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I'd stop & see how my little brother was doing."

"Well then. Rest assured, I'm fine."

"How fine?"

"Very," & he looked at Mycroft with a not so veiled stare.

"Excellent. Molly, is there any milk to be had? I like my coffee white."

"No...I finished the last bit," she looked up with an apologetic look.

Sherlock eyed his brother. He didn't recall Mycroft ever claiming a preference for coffee preparation.

"Well, no matter."

"No...no. We need it anyway. I'll dash out & grab some," & she got up, got dressed, & left.

Without looking at his brother, Sherlock asked, "Why did you send her out?"

"I should think it obvious."

"Enlighten me."

"Because I wished to learn of your evening, & I thought it best to spare you & Molly any embarrassment by my inquiring about it."

"How very kind."

Mycroft waited. "And?"

Sherlock sat back & smiled. "It went well."

"All sorted then?"

"Sorted."

"Virginity status updated?"

"That's rather crude, brother mine," Sherlock repeated the irritating term of endearment to Mycroft. "But yes, to put it indelicately."

"Very good," said Mycroft, smiling.

Molly returned with the milk, & the trio enjoyed a quaint, albeit strange by normal standards, breakfast.


	19. Chapter 19

The delight of the couple was complete. Molly was thrilled at her good fortune, Sherlock equally so. She spent much time at 221B, but was hesitant to move in altogether. He didn't press it, he was a bit unsure himself, & only brought it up because he thought perhaps Molly might want to be asked. The time spent at Molly's flat was less frequent, for she had become so enamored of Baker Street, that she honestly didn't want to spend time there - Toby notwithstanding.

After several months in the newly discovered bliss of a fresh relationship, after walls came down, after a few rows & passionate reconciliation, & after Sherlock Holmes had mastered much of the art of seduction & lovemaking, Molly recalled something she had always wanted to ask him, but never had the courage to.

"Sherlock?" They had just finished dinner, & the two were now cleaning up the kitchen.

"Hmm?"

"Do you recall, several Christmases ago now..."

His heart had stopped. She was bringing up that mortifying episode wherein he had embarrassed her, embarrassed himself...when he had first begun to view Molly as more than merely a means to an end, someone he talked at, but never listened to.

"...that woman...who had died...you came with Mycroft to identify her?"

The Woman. She was talking about her? Whatever for? "Yes. I recall..."

"How did you...how did you know it was her, by her...um..." she cleared her throat. "By her body? Naked? I mean...if you were a virgin...?"

"I never slept with her, Molly."

"Oh. Well, yes. So how...?"

He sighed. This was going to be a bit difficult to explain. While it was surely true that Sherlock Holmes never had sexual intercourse with another person before Molly Hooper (he would fulfill that rather obnoxious need via pornography), it was not true that he was never sexually attracted to another person, or never fantasized, or what have you. Irene Adler had certainly been the object of many a fantasy, but never, not once, did he consider her anything beyond. She had troubled him because it was with a slight ferocity that his urge was awakened via her, but it was also through his experiences with her that his eye had first drifted in Molly's direction. Perhaps that was how he should explain it.

He took her hand & led her to John's chair. He then went into the kitchen & got them both some whiskey.

He handed her her glass. "This must be serious," she said, accepting.

"Not really," he returned. "But this may take some time."

Molly nodded, & drank. Her mind began to race. What if he told her that he had been in love with that woman? He never said she was his first love, only his first sexual partner. How would Molly handle that? She would be mature about it. Silly to think that just because she took his virginity she alone owned his heart. She would be a grown up, listen to what he had to say, be there for him, & cry about it later. She was dead, after all.

"I suppose I should begin by saying that that woman isn't dead."

Molly nearly dropped her drink.

"Yes," he noted her altered state, & decided he should probably tread lightly. "Irene Adler, that woman, had attempted to seduce me. Rather clumsy, she was, very forward. A liar, a blackmailer, but very bright. Clever," he sipped his drink. "Too clever, perhaps. But she did, admittedly...ah..." he began to search for the proper term..."Arouse me. When I first met her, she was completely naked."

"What?"

"Yes."

"Completely naked?"

"Just so."

"And...then what?"

He began to pace about. "She was a...as she termed it...a dominatrix. It was her profession, her business...sex. She was difficult to ignore."

"I can imagine."

"Yes. So...she attempted to seduce me for her own gain. She nearly won, but in the end, sentiment got the better of her, & was her undoing," he stopped, finished his drink & sat in his chair opposite Molly.

"Oh. But she's not dead? Doesn't anyone you know stay dead?"

He laughed. "She's not, because I ensured she didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"She was in terrible danger. She was nearly murdered. I stopped that from happening."

Molly downed the rest of her drink. "You did? Why?"

"It's never good for someone to be murdered. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, but..."

"The world is less dull with her in it. Besides, she might prove useful to me at some point."

"Useful."

"Yes."

"How?"

"Dunno. The opportunity hasn't presented itself yet," & he went to procure some more whiskey.

Molly didn't like it. There was something...nefarious in his intent. Something, Molly suspected, to do with his obvious attraction to this Irene. She was, admittedly, jealous. Unrequited feelings were very powerful, & if that woman was out there, she was accessible to Sherlock. Sherlock, Molly's boyfriend. Her stomach churned. She loathed jealousy. Sherlock returned with a full glass, & poured more for her.

"Of course," he began, "It was nothing more than physical attraction. And truly, it allowed me to begin to think of you, Molly, in a different way."

"Sorry?"

"Yes. Irene was despicable. Nothing ever romantic could ever have occurred between her & I. But it was by virtue of her forwardness, her obvious attraction to me, that I began to feel...well...attractive."

Molly stood up. "Do you mean to tell me that after all those years I fawned over you & did your bidding & blushed over & over again that you never once, until this woman showed up parading her ass in front of you, felt attractive because of my attention?" She was in a state.

"Molly..." He stood up now, too.

"No! It's pretty obvious that Irene was considerably more beautiful than I am. IS considerably so because you ensured that she's still alive," and she put her coat on.

"Where are you going?"

"Home!" and she left.

Well. That went horribly bad. He considered what he did wrong...he texted Mycroft.


	20. Chapter 20

She felt so incredibly silly. She hated herself - to be undone by beauty was not something she ever imagined herself falling victim to. She wasn't like that. She was impervious to trifling things such as physical beauty. Had her intellect been insulted, she might have minded. As it stood, her jealousy was roused by the obvious physical attraction he had for this dominatrix. A dominatrix, for gods sake. How could she compete with that?

But she needn't compete, she reminded herself. Sherlock was her boyfriend, not Irene's. She'd apologise tomorrow after she slept off her mortification.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Mycroft entered the flat to see his brother sitting at his computer, fingers steepled, eyes shut. This was very likely not good.

"Here I am, Sherlock, just as you demanded."

"Didn't demand, Mycroft."

"Very nearly," & he sat in John's chair.

He opened his eyes. "Molly is very cross with me."

"What did you do?"

Sherlock got up & went to the kitchen. "Nothing. I explained Irene Adler."

"Ah..."

He returned after putting the kettle on. "What?"

"A woman can be...sensitive about such things."

"But why? I think I've more than proven myself."

Mycroft smiled. "Sherlock, you were very clearly attracted to Miss Adler. Everyone saw it."

"Everyone? Who's everyone?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Everyone who knows you. Especially Molly." And he twirled his umbrella on the floor.

The kettle screamed. "Especially Molly?" He went to fetch the tea.

"Yes. Because she recognised your attraction to her while she herself was attracted to you."

Sherlock brought in two cups & handed one to Mycroft. "What do I do?"

Mycroft smiled. How much he loved his brother, he couldn't say. How on earth would he ever manage without him? He shuddered at the thought. "Wait on it, I think. Give her a bit to cool off," and he drained the tea, stood up.

"You're not leaving?"

"Wasn't that everything?"

"Well...I have Monopoly...I'll let you be the shoe..." Sherlock smirked.

"I'm always the shoe," Mycroft was confused.

"Only because I let you."

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Molly had worked all day the following day, & was too tired to go to Baker Street afterwards. She hadn't heard from Sherlock, so she decided to text him & see if it was ok to pop by in the morning.

He indicated it was.

She wanted to bring a peace offering. But what might be appropriate? She thought on it, & came up with a fantastic idea.

Molly walked slowly up the stairs to the B flat.

Sherlock was playing his violin, & she instantly recalled when they had dinner here a few months back & got sloshed.

"Hi Sherlock," she announced herself.

He turned & looked at her. "Good evening, Molly." He set down the violin.

Hmm. Formal. He was pissed off.

His hands were in his pockets, & Molly entered fully.

"Sherlock," & her eyes dropped. "I might've...overreacted." No response. "I'm sorry...I...love you," & she handed him a parcel.

He accepted it. "You know that you're absolutely lovely. You know that I think you are beautiful, as ordinary as that particular sentiment is."

Molly blushed.

"You know, Molly, that it is your mind, your heart, that first attracted me. The mere fact that you very much arouse physical reactions from my body should secure your faith in your physical appearance where I am concerned." He began opening the box. It was from the lab.

"I know," she whispered, still not looking at him.

He looked at what was in the box. An intact human heart.

"Molly!"

Her eyes shot up. "What?!"

He put it down carefully, & took her in his arms. "You are incredible. Thank you," and he kissed her deeply.

"Not angry anymore?" She asked him.

"I was never terribly..."

She smiled. "I love you. I'm sorry about how I reacted..."

His forehead leaned against her's. "Shhh..."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

His phone was wringing a receipt of text long after Sherlock & Molly had gone to bed. Long after their limbs ceased to move alongside one another, after the kisses, the laughter, the intense make up love making.

The screen of his iPhone illuminated the sitting room, but not until morning would he see the messages.

Hello, Mr. Holmes. I know that you missed me.

-IA


End file.
